


Entropy

by ArtisticRainey



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Depressing, Gen, Here be angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-17 05:36:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5856181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtisticRainey/pseuds/ArtisticRainey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A five minute fic challenge based on the following lines of poetry:</p><p>“Your coffee grows cold on the kitchen table,</p><p> which means the universe is dying.”</p><p>- Entropy, Neil Rollinson</p>
            </blockquote>





	Entropy

“Your coffee grows cold on the kitchen table,

 which means the universe is dying.”

\- _Entropy_ , Neil Rollinson

**~oOo~**

 

Your coffee grows cold on the kitchen table, which means the universe is dying.

 

Or at least, that’s how it seems. I don’t know what to do. I’m still dripping from the pool, cold rivulets of chlorinated water running down my chest. I’m only wearing a towel – and it’s got a cartoon surfer on it. Hardly the appropriate clothing for a conversation such as the one we will have. But I guess I don’t have a choice.

 

I stand here, stuck by indecision as you hang in solitude. I don’t think you’ve seen me. You certainly haven’t shown that you’ve seen me. You’re sitting at the kitchen table, running your fingers around the stained rim of a plastic mug. Plastic, because we don’t give you ceramic any more. That fact that you have chosen this of your own volition scares me as much as the dried salt tracks on your face. You used to balk at our choices. You said it wasn’t fair – right before you forgot about gravity again and smashed the third mug of the day.

 

You look so _young_ , John. Younger than me. Younger than _Alan_. You’re all bone-thin arms, like you’re made of spun sugar – and I’m scared that if I try to lift you up, you’ll smash.

 

Yet if I do nothing, if I sneak away and pretend – like you probably want me to do – and then come back in five with towelled-off hair and a broad grin on my face and say _Hey, John! What’s shakin’?_ nothing will change. I won’t get to the bottom of this. I won’t _know_.

 

And you’ll still be there, with your cold coffee and the entire world collapsing around you. The universe _is_ dying – the universe in your head.


End file.
